Tom sat forward on the black leather couch; Barbara knelt at her husband's feet. Having her hands cuffed behind her back put her off balance and forced her to rely on him to keep her upright; it also allowed Tom to position her body as he wanted it. One thick hand wound through her long blonde hair, steadying her with his strength and reminding her of his control. His other hand reached down between her slightly spread legs, and slid up between the thighs she could not close due to the spreader bar between her ankles. His touch made her moan; when he connected with her clit, it was sweet torture, and she pleaded with him.
"Please...please, Sir, can I come?" She didn't know if she could stop herself from having an orgasm, not if he kept touching her like this. Even untouched, just the weight of the chain connecting her nipples, the thin steel dangling from her piercings, was enough to make her crazy with need. She was far beyond silence and well into the pliable, responsive state she both craved and endured. She was his, as they both knew from the start she would be; the Barbara the world knew had now gone away, and in her place was a sex-driven animal that only her Sir really knew, a wantonly sexual creature that only Tom could tame.
He smiled in amusement, coupled with just a hint of annoyance. She was so attuned to him that even this tiny glimmer of disapproval from him hurt her somehow; it felt like failure. "No, pet. It's not time yet. I have a special plan for us tonight."
He'd been teasing her for more than an hour--bringing her to the edge of orgasm with a wide range of loving caresses: droplets off ice cubes rolled down her body, pinpoints of molten fire dripped from burning candles, needle-thin stripes from a freshly oiled rattan cane, the staccato rhythm of his hands on her ass, the electric heat of his voice in her ear, so in control, so aware of her every breath. Even for her inventive and patient Sir, this was a stretching of limits; in Barb, the craving for more sensations struggled against her body's ache for the completion it could only find with his cock buried deep inside her as they came together, the desire for orgasm fought against the need to submit. The intensity of their mutual pleasure was produced there, in the struggle between contradictory desires.
She nearly lost consciousness more than once from the exquisite agony of the edge, riding the teetering brink of orgasm. She had long since lost track of her inarticulate pleas for release, how many times she had begged for his cock in her mouth, or anywhere he wanted it so long as it was inside of her; once again she was hungry for more than he was willing to give. It was her job to push back against him, to reach him inside the wall of his control and convince him to fuck her with the wild ferocity they both craved, and the only way to do that was to surrender herself to his whims and become his living fantasy, his toy. He manipulated her body and emotions, but she lived his thoughts, was inside his mind just as much as he could ever penetrate her body.
It was an exchange of gifts, a very lasting and real intimacy based in negotiation and mutual acceptance. They called it play, but it wasn't an immature act, nor a diversion or game. In reality it was a play, like theater--Tom dressed the stage, they both knew their roles and yet, like the most inspired of actors, they found new life in their roles, their characters, every time they came together to perform. Sex was the stage on which they acted out their complementary natures, learned about each other's fears and fantasies and most private thoughts, and showed each other the purest of loves--that which is based in honesty, untempered by judgements. Tom typically set the scene, but it was a play they both knew well; husband and wife would work to draw the best possible performance from each other again tonight, as they did every night they came together on this stage.
Tom responded to her plaintive moans of hunger, always, with a hint of mockery in his voice. "Well, aren't you eager? Quite the little slut, aren't you?" The words were familiar, as though she'd been waiting for them all along.
And as always, she panted out the agreement they both wanted to hear. Even in her dazed state, the words came, automatic. "Yes, Sir. Yes. For you. Your little slut."
At this he smiled in satisfaction, the twin flares of lust and power burning right into her, she saw it--emanating light from his green eyes. "Well, my little slut, we are far from finished. We're going out tonight. Or have you forgotten?"
Barbara was nearly out of herself, she could barely keep hold of the details of their immediate surroundings; to her, there wasn't any world beyond the two of them. What could He mean? She tried to focus on the question, but his fingers pushed inside of her, stretching her inner walls and making it impossible to think, much less to respond.
